I Go To Sleep
by Not Quite Quiet
Summary: Eames x Arthur PWP. There's not even a set up, unless you call setting a set up, in which case, the set up is a hotel room. Not much more can be said. Please R


THIS IS YOUR WARNING! The slash starts in the first line, so if you don't like it, obviously, do not read it.

A very special thanks to my beta, Lizzie. If you like it, I'd love to be reviewed.

Arthur pushes Eames on to the bed, his hand on Eames's thick neck, his lips burning against Eames's. He pulls away for a second, closing those gorgeous eyes, lashes fluttering as he licks his lips and smiles, his forehead rested against Eames's. Eames can't take it anymore. Not that he could before, but now it's just… Eames takes his hands off the bed, he kisses Arthur and slowly brings his hands to rest on the point man's hips. It's not long before even that isn't enough, and his fingers slip into the waistband of Arthur's pants, searching. When he finally undoes that absolutely useless article of clothing, Arthur climbs on top of him and Eames leans back, lying as Arthur's pants fall to the floor. He crouches over Eames now, Eames large hands down feeling Arthur's hips, Eames now slipping his fingers under the thin, elastic waistband of Arthur's boxers. Arthur breaks away from the kiss, Eames looks back up at him, the flicker of a question in the incline of his eyebrows, he opens his mouth to put the question to words, but Arthur bites his bottom lip and all coherent thought flees Eames's mind. Arthur is on his knees, towering above Eames on the bed, arms hanging loosely at his side. Eames thumbs are there, between skin and fabric, and he has to do it, he can't not do it. He slides his thumbs down, the fabric catches, completely intentionally.

"Fuck, Arthur!" Eames sits up. "You're going to poke my eye out with that thing, if you're not careful!"  
"Wasn't it you who told me not to be afraid to dream a little bigger?" Arthur smiles that wicked grin again, and kisses Eames, Eames whose hand are still just underneath Arthur's ass and feel so perfect there. Arthur is leaning Eames back again, holding them both up, somehow, with one arm while crushing Eames's lips against his. Eames is now between bed and man, and his whole mind is on a carousel of happiness. His hands leave Arthur, who misses their warmth, and he is unbuttoning that terrible maroon shirt as fast as he can. Eames is arching to pull the dreaded cloth off his body, and it's finally gone, and Arthur takes his mouth from Eames's and he glances from the forger's eyes to his lips, kissing slowly, tantalizingly, and Eames can feel Arthur's fucking huge cock between them and he can't believe that the other man isn't going as crazy as he is.

Eames palms are sweating, and he takes them from Arthur's back as Arthur is grinding into him, and oh god, those jeans were the _wrong_ choice, they're just so fucking tight, and Eames is wiping the sweat off his hands and trying to force them between the man who is driving him crazy. Arthur's lips trail from Eames's own down his chin, and where the fuck did Arthur learn yoga? Because the point man is sliding down Eames body, leaving a burning trail of saliva in his wake and sticking that gorgeous ass in the air like he couldn't have a care in the world, so unlike the Arthur that Eames can't help but annoy. And there's finally room for Eames to remove the coarse denim, but he's doing it blindly because he has to look to the headboard, because just looking at Arthur's ridiculous and enticingly _erotic_ movements will just make this go so much faster, which is absolutely the opposite of what Eames wants right now. His jeans are undone, and Arthur has noticed, because those sweet, smooth hands have decided to help him escape the denim prison, and Arthur is stepping off the bed to gracefully slip Eames's pants off and into a heap on the floor. Arthur climbs back onto the bed, walking on his knees, his eyes are _magnetic_, his once neat hair starting to fall around his face. Eames sits up, between Arthur's surprisingly strong legs, first on his elbows, his eyes impossibly torn from Arthur's somehow, and he can't help but look over the other man's body and appreciate every single piece. Arthur closes his eyes, and laughs once, that laugh, that laugh which Eames just wants to jar and spread on toast and Eames is now really sitting up, one arm staying him, the other sliding down ribs, waist, hips, and Eames is closing his eyes, breathing Arthur in before, slowly, agonizingly slowly opening his mouth to take that gorgeous mess in.

Arthur gasps, leaning towards Eames, his hands held open, with nothing to grab. Eames tongue flicks out to catch Arthur's precum and Arthur is fighting to remain in control. Eames opens his mouth wider, and takes more of Arthur in, his own dick screaming to be touched, but now Eames is moving his head back and forth, his mouth watering and Arthur can't help but grip Eames's head, his fingers entwined in the other man's hair. Arthur, whose jaw is clenched along with every other muscle in his body, and now Eames is actually sucking, slurping, and Arthur's eyes are rolling up through closed lids.

"Eames…" Arthur breathes, Eames smiles, teeth just slightly brushing against Arthur. "Eames…" And Arthur looks down with those eyes, those pleading eyes, those same eyes that Eames saw before going into that third level of dream without Arthur. Suddenly, Eames is worried. He leans back, letting Arthur slip out of him mouth, Arthur's eyes bulging for a second at the sudden coldness of the room in comparison to Eames mouth.

"What's wrong, pet?" Arthur takes a hand out of Eames's hair to run it through his own. He smiles that sad smile and Eames can't help but wrack his brains for something, anything he's done wrong...

"It's just…" And both men are holding their breath, and Arthur's eyes travel across the room and finally meet Eames's. "I can't let you make _me_ have all the fun." And the wickedness is darkening Arthur's eyes and widening his smile, and Eames is letting out all his breath in a short laugh, before Arthur is back, kissing his lips tenderly, endearingly, his hands roaming down Eames and crawling, once again out of the bed, that bastard, to pull the forger from his underwear. Arthur, ever so uncharacteristically, crumples the flimsy fabric in his hands and is walking into the bathroom, while Eames is just laying there, his arms propping his head up, smiling for the entire world with the stupidest grin plastered across his face.

When Arthur returns, there is a tiny tube of what looks like not inexpensive lube in his hand, and he is looking Eames in the eyes as he unscrews the cap and squirts a generous amount into his hands. Arthur walks up to the bed, but this time does not crawl over Eames and lavish him with every kind of kiss known to man, but slides his lubricated hand from base to tip of Eames eager member. Arthur's hands come together, his previously clean hand dropping the lube to the floor with the men's discarded pants, and dragging two fingers across his palm. He looks at those two fingers, then at Eames, his other hand returning to stroke Eames's length. Their eyes remain locked until Eames Arthur spreads Eames's ass cheeks with thumb and ring finger, allowing the two lubed fingers enter into that tight entrance.

"Fuck, Arthur, where the fuck did you learn this?" Eames is thrown back for just a moment before he moves his head to marvel at the point man, so full of secrets. Arthur just leans that long torso over Eames, giving him the most gentle of kisses before leaving Eames's dick to lubricate his own, and then he's back, his gentle but firm hand is slowly lavishing Eames, while his other hand is opening the forger, and then he's in and Eames is shuddering.

"Shhhh, shhhhh, love." Arthur simply says, letting Eames's body get used to his presence, and fuck, Arthur, god, always so controlled it made others around him seem like they would fall apart at any second, which Eames is very close to doing. The forger breathes, his hands letting go of the sheets he hadn't even noticed he was holding on to, Arthur's eyes ever on him. "Ok?" Eames nods, and Arthur strokes him slowly, building faster and faster, and then, only then does the point man allow himself to move painstakingly slowly in the other man, ever keeping that eye contact, while Eames closes and opens his eyes uncontrollably, and Arthur is going faster and faster with his hand and Eames is arching his back and thrusting his hips to meet all the perfectly timed thrusts from the other man. "Come on Eames, it will feel so good," Arthur hoarsely whispers. "it will feel _so_ good to come with me in you."

"That's so- pant- thoughtful of you –pant- darling!" Eames is struggling to hold on, but he wants it, it _does_ feel good, and he never ever thought, god, not with Arthur! And he can't keep his eyes open any longer, and he's wondering how on earth Arthur is still controlling his facial features, only every now and then a twitch of pleasure playing across those sharp features. And then Arthur hits it, he hits that spot and Eames can't breathe but he doesn't even care that all his breath has left him in a groan of swears he didn't even know were in his vocabulary.

Arthur feels Eames shuddering all around him, as the forger shoots into the air, his whole body is moving and Arthur quickens his pace even more, still standing, feeling the roughness of the carpet beneath his feet, feeling the sweat of his palms against the shaking of that beautiful (although frequently terribly dressed) man in front of him, and he can't keep his eyes open any more, and his neatly trimmed fingernails are digging into skin as Eames is finally recovering and Arthur feels bad for just one instant that he is no longer that controlled presence, that presence that would never, ever, in his wildest dreams (many of which the other man has been a part of) hurt Eames and finally he is there and he is shouting so loud, as he falls onto Eames, who just lays a hand on the desperate rise and fall of the smooth back.

Then Arthur's breathing slows back to a normal speed, and he is leaving Eames, Eames who now feels so empty, after never having felt so full in his life. Eames's laugh breaks the air and Arthur can only crawl next to him, laying a hand across his chest before falling asleep on his stomach, sweat drooping his hair across his beautiful sleeping lids. Eames wonders if Arthur will dream, as he remains awake, and brushes the mess of hair from that peaceful face.


End file.
